A Very Nice Day For A Trial
by Draco's Secret Lover
Summary: A look at what happened the night the Newsies were arrested..before the trial. **WARNING!!! Boy-on-boy slash. REader discretion is advised!!**
1. Well, it just sorta happened on it's own

Me no own, you no sue.  
  
Okay, peeps. This is SLASH. BOY-ON-BOY. So all you Homophobes turn back now. You have been warned. This is my favorite Newsie slash pairing-Spot/Race. If you have any objections, you know what to do...TURN BACK NOW!!! Still here? Okay. I don't what slang was used for bi and gay people in 1899, so I'm just going to say gay and bi. If YOU know what was used, tell me, and I'll be happy to go back and fix it. That said, on with the show!  
  
  
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"Get in deah, yah pieces a filth!" The policeman holding Race's arms behind his back shoved him carelessly into a small, dirty cell with a thick metal door. He slammed it shut as Race threw himself against it, shouting. He hit the door with the side of his fist, then looked around. There was a small, barred window that stopped about a foot over his head, a flap at the bottom of the door, presumably for food, and a place at the top for the jailers to look in. The furniture consisted of a metal frame bed with a gray-that-was-once-white thin cotton blanket, a metal sink in the corner, and a metal pot. Race kicked at the dirt on the floor and threw himself on the bed.  
  
"Damn strike. Damn Snydah. Damn bulls." He muttered to himself. He could hear the bulls out in the hallway, throwing the other captured newsies into their cells. Race hoped that they would all get to trial tomorrow, instead of having to wait. He heard some more door slam, then a scuffling sound.  
  
"Hold still, whelp!" an adult voice sounded. There was more scuffling, and a voice Race recognized as Spot's grunted, as if he was struggling. Which, knowing Spot, thought Race, he was. There was a muffled 'whump' and the scuffling stopped. "Damn kids." The same adult male voice came again. Race got a sick feeling in his stomach. If that was Spot, he wouldn't stop trying to get out, unless.... Race didn't want to finish that thought. The man spoke again. "Where should I put dis one, chief? There ain't no moah empty cells."  
  
"Stick 'im in with one a the other boys. Any of 'em."  
  
"Right. Hey, you, there. Open up this door here." Race heard the jingle of keys, and then the lock on his door turned. It opened, and a large, fat man threw Spot in. Spot stumbled, barley standing, then tripped over his own feet and fell to the ground. He lie there, motionless, as the two bulls laughed. Race, feeling an odd rage which turned everything but Spot a shade of red, lunged at them. They were too busy laughing to notice, and he got in two punches before one of them threw him back, and the other slammed the door. Race lunged at the door, and beat on it, threatening the cops in a variety of colorful ways.  
  
He went on for a moment, then heard Spot groan, and try to get up. Race turned, then went to help him. He knelt down, and said "Hey, Spot, are you okay? What did dey do to ya?" He held Spot's arm, pulling the other boy to a shaky standing position.  
  
"Dey hit me. In da head." Spot took a deep breath, and then a step towards the bed. His knees buckled, but Race was able to catch him. He slid his arm around Spot's waist, and Spot slid his arm around Race's shoulders. The four steps to the bed seemed like they took forever to Spot. His head was swimming, and everything around him, except for Race, was spinning. When they reached the bed, Spot grabbed the metal rail at the top, and sat down quickly, pulling Race, who still had his arm around the other boy, with him.  
  
They landed on top of each other, all tangled up. Spot felt his stomach twinge, like it had earlier, when Race had first put his arm around him, but he hoped that it was due to being hit on the head. He knew perfectly well what the twinge was, he felt it every time he saw a pretty girl. He /was/ sixteen, after all. But this was no pretty girl. This was Racetrack Higgins. A newsie. A /BOY/ newsie.   
  
Race also felt that same twinge, and like Spot, was a normal sixteen year old. But he had felt this with boys before. He knew he was bi, but he didn't really want the other Manhattan newsies to know. As a whole, they hated bi and gay people. There used to be two gay men living across the street, but after the taunts and jeers, they had moved. Race didn't want to move. He liked it where he was. Unlike Spot, however, Race was not so in control of his emotions, and he felt the blush creep across his face before he could hide it.  
  
Spot saw Race blush, and knew that they were both having the same thoughts. For the first time in his life, Spot 'Brooklyn' Conlon was at a loss for as to what to do. He sat for a moment, kind of shocked, then realized that his arm was still around Race's shoulders, holding the other boy down on top of him. Hastily, he drew his arm back and swallowed hard. As another first for the Brooklynite, he was unable to stop the blush from spreading across his cheeks.   
  
Race saw the blush and was elated. That might mean that the other boy felt the same way. Race moved from off of him once he was no longer being held there, and sat next to him, pulling one knee up to rest his arms across it. He looked at Spot through the corner of one eye. He was chewing on his bottom lip, and looking around the room. He was toying around with the key that hung from around his neck, wrapping the cord around his fingers, then un wrapping it, then wrapping it again. His hat was lying on the floor, and his sandy-brown hair was mussed up from where it had slid off. It was all rather endearing.  
  
Race had this voice in his head, which was telling him to just kiss the other boy. Just /look/ at him, it said. Look at how /good/ he looks. You know you want to. Just /do/ it. Like Davey says, Seize the day. Race told the voice to go away, but there it stayed. The voice kept pestering him, and Race felt himself grow hard. He tuned his head and stared at the little sliver of night sky he could see through the window.  
  
Once Race had looked away, Spot allowed himself to stare at the one thing in the room he had not looked at in the last minute. Race. He felt the strangest /pull/ towards his cellmate, like he wanted to kiss him. But that couldn't be. Spot 'Brooklyn' Conlon was /not/ gay. Not only was Spot 'Brooklyn' Conlon decidedly /not/ gay, he was the Newsies biggest womanizer. He had a new girl every week. How /could/ he be gay? But he still wanted to kiss Race. He swallowed again, and thought of Davey, the Walking Mouth. He was always telling us to 'Seize the Day' and all his schoolboy crap. Should /I/ seize the day now? Thought Spot. Should I kiss another boy? Just /thinking/ about doing it made Spot grow hard. He looked away from Race, to stare at where his hat was lying on the floor.  
  
  
Both boys were now trying to decided whether or not it would be a very good idea to kiss the other, and both were looking opposite ways. There was a sound outside the door. One of the other cells had been opened, and they both heard one of the guards telling one of the other inmates that they were free to go. They were now both thinking the same thing again: Does this mean that they would be split up? If they were, they both knew that there would be another time quite like this. How would they know what would have happened? Seize the Day ran through both of their minds again, and then they turned to each other.  
  
Race dropped his arms off his knee and turned so that he was facing Spot straight on. Spot turned himself sideways on the bed, and ran one hand through his hair. He was really sweating this decision now. What if Race was disgusted? What if Race told Jack? There was no way that he'd ever live this down if Race didn't also want this. Race was thinking along the same lines. If Spot told Jack, he'd throw him out on the streets. And then where would he go? Manhattan was really only on good terms with Brooklyn, and as Spot was the leader of Brooklyn...Without further hesitation, Race got up on his knees and grabbed the other boys' shoulders. Before Spot could do anything, Race covered his mouth with his own. Spot opened his mouth, a bit too shocked to move. But only for a second.   
  
He leaned into the kiss and wrapped his arms around Race. Race decided that he wanted to take charge of this, wanting to take full advantage of having the great big tough Brooklyn leader under him. Race pushed Spot's shoulder's back, until he was lying flat in the bed. Ending the kiss, Race crawled up so that he was kneeling over Spot, one leg on either side. Both were breathing heavy, lips tingling from the ferocity of their first kiss. Spot's hair, a little longer than all the other's, fanned out on the grayish sheet. Race wanted to touch it so bad. He leaned into the other boy, using one arm to prop himself up so he wasn't lying right on Spot, and running his other hand through that soft brown hair. Spot raised slightly off his back and captured the other boy into another searing kiss. He wrapped one arm around Race's waist, and the other around his neck, pulling him down closer. When Spot pulled him down, Race's supporting arm slid out from under him, and he fell onto Spot with his full weight.  
  
He started to pick himself up, but then he felt Spot's erection. I /told/ you it was a good idea, said that voice again. Race smiled, and ended the kiss. Spot began to protest this, but his protests turned into moans of pleasure at Race's next move. He had re-positioned so that his erection was right next to Spot's and began to do slow hip circles, rubbing the two together. The added friction was proving to be a bit too much, and Race had to stop before they both came. He looked back up at his new lover, and saw that he was breathing hard, and kept swallowing. He felt a strange sort of power, knowing that he was probably the only boy to ever get Spot Conlon on his back. He smiled, and decided to take it further.  
  
He moved up a little and let his hands play across Spot's chest. The Brooklynite shivered, and moved his own hands up under the back of Race's shirt. Race smiled, and began unbuttoning Spot's good blue shirt. He had it all the way down, due to practice, and slid his hands under it. He wanted to take it off, so he slid his hands up to Spot's shoulders and pushed the sleeves down, still with his hands under the shirt. When the sleeves went down, so did the suspenders that were somewhat of a trademark. Spot pulled his arms from around Race long enough to pull his arms out of the sleeves. He wrapped his arms back around Race, this time over his shirt. His hands danced over Race's spine, and Race realized that Spot wanted him to take /his/ shirt off, but was used to girls dresses, which usually fastened up the back.   
  
Race pulled away, and undid his own shirt and vest. Tossing them aside, he felt Spot put his hands back onto his now bare back. When he sat up to discard the shirt, he had rubbed their erections back together and now he wanted to see it. He undid the two buttons, and felt Spot begin to do the same to him. Once they were both undone, both boys stood up next to the bed. They stepped out of their pants, shoes going with them. They both jumped each other, locking lips yet again.  
  
Spot took charge this time, throwing Race back onto the bed, then climbing on top of him. They rolled over, limbs entangled, both vying for the top. Race was just able to catch himself, before rolling both of them onto the floor. The floor, he thought. Much wider than the bed. He jumped up, pulling Spot's arm so as he was on his feet as well. Spot rocked back and forth, unsteady, trying to figure out why his new lover had stood. He watched as Race grabbed the thin blanket from the bed and roughly spread it out on the floor. He suddenly understood, and grabbed the other around the waist to pull him along as he sank to his knees. They resumed the kiss that they had left off from, now with a bit more space to fight for the top, their erections rubbing together nicely.  
  
After a moment, Spot finally surrenred the top, and in return, Race decided to speed things up a bit. He raised to his knees and then crawled down Spot's body, trailing kisses first down his neck, then across his chest, then to his stomach. He stayed there for a moment, teasing Spot a bit with his tongue.   
Spot threw his head back, trying not to moan, knowing what was going to happen next. Race saw the movement and began to give the boy what he wanted.  
  
He moved down further and bent his head to slowly lick up the underside of Spot's rock-hard erection. Spot moaned, and tangled his hands in Race's dark hair. Bracing himself on one hand, Race began to massage the base of Spot's penis with the other. He continued to lick up the erection, then swirled his tongue around the head. He then flicked his tongue across the top a few times, tasting the pre-cum. Spot moaned again, and Race deep-throated him. He sucked in hard, and moved in an up and down motion, moving his hand to toy with Spot's balls. He felt Spot begin to thrust his hips up and decided to change the motion. He deep-throated him again, and moved his mouth all the way up to the head. But instead of going down again, Race let Spot totally out of his mouth. He then blew softly on it, eliciting another moan from Spot at the rush of cold air. He pulled Spot back into his mouth, then continued to suck and lick until the other boy was about to come. Race didn't particularly want to swallow, so he replaced his mouth with his hand. Spot had his eyes closed and was thrusting into Race's hand. He came suddenly, calling Race's name. He lie there for a moment, shaking, as Race looked on. He felt /good/ about himself for being able to give Spot this sort of pleasure. He smiled, and sat up on his knees.  
  
Spot was able to pull himself back from over the edge quick enough to realize that Race still hadn't gotten off. He wanted to reciprocate all the feelings that Race had given him, so he pulled himself into a sitting position. Still breathing a bit heavy, he told Race, in a husky sort of voice, "Stand up."  
  
Race did as he was told and looked down at Spot, who licked his lips and looked rather nervous. Spot looked up and him, and Race was struck by how amazingly erotic this was, with the very good-looking boy, who was on his knees now, in front of him. Spot spoke again, voice still low and husky. "I ain't nevah done this before." He looked like he wanted to say more, but didn't really know what he wanted to say.  
  
Race took control, yet again. "Jus' do what comes natural. And don't swallow." He added. Spot took another deep breath and put his mouth over Race's erection. He went partway down, then back up. He looked up at Race, who had his eyes closed. It was much easier without being watched, and he grew a bit bold. He raised his hands and with one rubbed Race's balls, and the other he wrapped around the base and moved it up at the same time he slid his mouth down. When his hand met his mouth, he changed direction. He did this a few times and felt Race's stomach muscled clench. He knew that it was a good move, and told himself to remember it for next time. Next time? He thought. Will there be a next time? He stopped thinking.  
  
Race's hands were tangled in his hair, and were thrusting in rhythm. Spot did it faster now, keeping time with Race's quickening pace. When he felt Race's balls clench, he knew the boy was about to come. He removed his mouth, letting his tongue swirl around the tip. Race jerked and bent forward as he came.  
  
Spot moved back a bit, and Race fell onto his knees if front of Spot. His stomach muscles heaving. Spot smiled in self-satisfaction. After Race had caught his breath, he looked at Spot. "You sure you ain't done that befoah?"  
  
Spot grinned, and went to kiss Race again. Race kissed him back, but both boys were spent and they knew it. They sat together for a few minutes, with their arms around each other. Race felt himself begin to drift off to sleep, and moved to lie down. Spot followed suit, keeping the other boy in his arms. Race fell asleep, his head pillowed on Spot's shoulder. Spot smiled to himself, and before he let himself go, he reached over and grabbed a corner of the blanket and pulled, so as to cover them up. As an afterthought, he reached up and grabbed Race's shirt from where he had discarded it and wadded it up to pillow his own head. He looked down at Race, and had one last thought before he fell asleep smiling. Spot 'Brooklyn' Conlon is /not/ gay. He just might be bi.  
  
  
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Now that you've read, REVIEW!!!!!!! 


	2. Totally out of Spot's hands

Due to complaints from blueyes719@optonline.net that I should get rid of this story and all other slash stories (mostly based on the fact that she didn't like slash), I have been inspired to add chapters to what was supposed to be a stand-alone ficlet. If you wish to see the hate mail that blueyes719@optonline.net sent me about this, by all means, e-mail me. I'll forward you all of her e-mails at once. They're quite funny. It's her own fault, after all. It says in the summary that this is slash, so if she knew she didn't like that sort of stuff……..It even says in her first e-mail to me not to say "well, you shouldn't have read it then" because 'that is just gay'. Sometimes I think I understand what motivates the human race (money, love, adventure…) but then sometimes I think that maybe it's just blatant stupidity. Oh well. If you like this chapter, wonderful. If you don't...*shrugs* Either way, leave me a review!!!  
  
BTW... Words in // or ** are meant to be emphasized.  
  
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Spot sat on the pier and shot small rocks at a row of bottles left by last nights drunks'. One by one, they all shattered, and Spot felt an odd sense of release in doing that. He was VERY angry at Jack right now, for deserting the newsies in their greatest time of need. If /he/ was the leader, he wouldn't have given in to the scabs. Spot kicked and empty crate off the pier with such force that it gave a healthy crunch under his foot. Several broken pieces disturbed the usually calm waters between the docks. He stood and watched the rippling die down, and then turned to go back to the Brooklyn Boarding House. It was right on the docks, and not as big or nice as Manhattans', but it was home.  
  
Walking in the door, he motioned to his two best friends from Brooklyn to come over. He had two from Manhattan, too. Pockets and Maddy walked over to him and waited for him to tell them why he interrupted their poker game. "Let's walk over to Jack's place."   
  
"Okay." Pockets threw his hand on the table. "I was gonna loose that one anyways."  
  
"Hold on Spot, lemme finish this hand, aright?"   
  
"No. We go now." Maddy cursed under his breath, but threw down his hand and followed. No one argued with Spot when he got that way. And he had been that way for a few days now. Jack had been arrested, and some of the boys went to break him out, but he wouldn't go. Davey had reported that Jack was making some kind of deal with Pulitzer. Spot didn't believe it, but the next day when he was striking with Race, he himself saw Jack come out with the Scabs. That was day before yesterday, and the last day he had been to Manhattan.  
  
The three of them turned to go, and Spot reached to pull the door open when it swung forward of its own accord. Spot looked out and saw Race, looking very tired in these early morning hours, and holding a small stack of papers. "Can I, uh, talk to you a minute Spot?"  
  
"Shuah." Spot stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind him so that none of his boys would follow. Spot half grinned at Race and led the way to their usual meeting place that was just out of view of the boarding house windows. They sat on the edge of the pier and leaned against the back of some old gangplank, that had been there for as long as Spot could remember. One of the older newsies who was gone now had once told him that their pier used to be used a lot, but a boat was there once and the captain was drunk. He wrecked into the side, and tore a hole in the hull.  
  
The passengers used this gangplank to get off the ship in a hurry, and they all blamed not the captain, but the pier itself in the wreck. So they just started using it less and less, and then it was only fisherman and the newsies. One old fisherman who only had a small dingy had chopped the gangplank in two and nailed it up to form a small two sided shelter for his rickety old boat. He was the last one there and for a year he lived in that shelter. He had eventually added a roof of mostly torn up crates, and one day he never came back from fishing. But that had all happened before Spot was there so he had no superstitions about the gangplank shelter like some of the others did.  
  
  
  
"Hey Spot. We'se missed ya."  
  
  
  
"Yeah, I'se missed *you*, Race." Spot looked hard at Race. Race began fidgeting after a moment. He knew what Spot wanted, but he also knew what *he* wanted. And those two things weren't the same.  
  
  
  
"Yeah. Hey, listen, Jack came back. Yesterday. And we stayed up all las' night and dis mornin' printin' these." Race handed Spot one of the papes he had been carrying. "We're gonna have all the woikin' kids in da city rally with us dis time, not just the newsies. You gotta bring Brooklyn, Spot. You gotta." Race handed Spot about a dozen more papes to pass out amongst his boys, and Spot took them. "I ain't got time to sit with ya's right now. I gotta get back and get Jack's boys to the square. Me 'n Blink, we's been sorta temporary leadah's while Jack's been gone, so I dunno if they'll take 'im back widout us."   
  
  
  
Spot just looked at him, and Race got up to go. "So I guess I'll see ya deah." He began to walk off.   
  
  
  
"Race, wait." Spot stood up. "Please, Race. Dis ain't like me, ta be chasin' no one. Usually I'm da one gettin' chased. But, Race, can't ya jus'..."  
  
  
  
"Look, we been through dis already, remembah? I ain't gonna do that."  
  
  
  
"Race, I...I jus' want you ta be wid me moah. I want ya ta come around, an...an...an do what we did in da jail again." Spot internally cringed at his pleading voice. It was totally against his way of living to be pleading with someone for their favors. Especially with a boy.   
  
  
  
His blue eyes stared down Race's chocolate ones for a few moments. Until Race finally said, "It mighta been diffrent foah you, but foah me, it was jus' a one night thing. I only date goils, and play wid da boys foah kicks." The immediate pain in Spot's eyes caused Race to have to turn around before finishing. "What we did dinn't mean nuthin ta me." He walked away, leaving Spot on the pier alone, clutching the papers like a lifeline.  
  
  
  
The whole way back, Race cursed himself for having to so that. He knew he had feeling for the Brooklyn leader. Deep feelings that no one could ever deny. But he also knew what happened when two boys tried to make it work. He had seen that first hand more than once. It was never pretty. Twice both of them had even been killed. It was different when it was two girls. All they had to do was let a couple of the guys watch once or twice, and it was considered okay. Race would never understand how that double standard worked.  
  
  
  
Once back at the Lodging House, Race called all the boys downstairs. He explained that Jack was back for good, that the strike was back on. Most of them had already heard, and a handful of them had been in on the printing and delivering of the papers, but they had been ordered to keep their traps shut until Race or Blink explained everything at once. This was to try and get rid of the rumors that run so rampant when there is a good story to tell, but no one knows the full details. And being newsies, they all excel at making up details and stories. Finally, the story was complete, and Race said "So anyone who want's ta go down to da Square wid us, let's go now."  
  
Race and Blink set off, meeting Jack, Davey, and Les there. Not all of the newsies had followed, but there was an all right number. They all knew that all the kids they delivered fliers to had to come down for their plan to work though, and Race was busy worrying about Spot. He was unsure of whether the Brooklyn side would come down now, after what he said to their leader. Spot would never tell his boys that anything went on, but he would have them not go to the rally, and they would obey orders.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
*****  
  
  
  
Okay, from here on out, stuff happens just like it did from here to the end of the movie. There are no private conversations between our boys, and there are no weird plot twists or anything that you need to know about.  
  
*****  
  
And now I'm leaving you for today, and I shall have a new chapter soon!!!  
  
R&R!!! 


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